Stairway to Evermore
by Rosawyn
Summary: In which the angels are Elves and humans are an endangered species. Spoiler for 4.19 "Jump the Shark" - even though this is entirely AU, the existence of a certain character still counts as a rather big spoiler.
1. Prologue: Time Will Tell Us All

**Stairway to Evermore**

****A/N: So I had this _crazy_ idea… This is most definitely going to be a longer fanfic than I have ever written before, and it's amazing how much work and pre-planning I find myself putting into this, so I sincerely hope it's appreciated. Chapter titles are taken from Led Zeplin song lyrics unless otherwise noted.  
><strong>**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue: Time Will Tell Us All<strong>

_Isn't every war fought between men, between brothers?_  
>-Victor Hugo<p>

"My Lord, Michael, the Prophet Edlund has had a vision."

And that's how it all started. Well, technically, one could argue it all started with El ages ago when he created Michael, first of his many sons and daughters and drew the Tree from the earth for him dwell in. But that story has no conflict, and would not hold interest for long. The conflict, of course, started with Lucifael, youngest of the four High Elves, who recoiled at the idea of peaceful co-existence with the humans—these chaotic, mortal creatures whose very existence no Elf could explain. The High Elf Gabriel saw in them a flicker of the grace El gave unto the Elves and immediately loved them. The High Elf Raphael withheld his opinion, stating simply that he would abide by the decision of El's Steward, whatever that decision might be. Lucifael, however, found the very sight of these strangely Elf-like creatures repugnant, and declared them a vile mockery of El and his creation. It pained the High Elf Michael to see his brothers so at odds, and he spent seven days in seclusion—neither eating, nor drinking, nor resting—seeking the face of his father for guidance. On the evening of the seventh day, he emerged wreathed in renewed glory, the grace of El shining bright in his eyes, and declared the humans were to be cared for and protected, watched over as younger siblings much beloved by El.

It was then that Lucifael did the unthinkable: he refused to accept the Steward's word, declaring that their father would never have guided a High Elf to such folly. He spoke out with bitterness and rage, then fell before his eldest brother and begged that himself or Raphael be allowed to seek El's face for confirmation. Such a breach of protocol had never been seen or imagined, and the entire Elven Host felt the shock. Never had the word of a High Elf—let alone the Eldest of El, his appointed Steward—been questioned. The Host waited in hushed silence for Michael's response. Michael looked upon his brother with pain in his eyes and begged him to reconsider, to submit himself to the will of El who would forgive this transgression. But Lucifael refused again with greater violence, daring even to curse the name of El in his rage. Michael had no choice but to cast him out, and the Elf Azazel and the Elf Alistaiel followed with Lucifael who went to the land that is called today the Land of Loss and built from the stones there the Fortress of Scourge for himself and his followers and it is from there that the blight has spread across the land.

Of this story, the humans know very little. Many, in fact, doubt the truth of the stories of Elves—no human has reported seeing an Elf for many generations, since even before the time of Samuel Colt and the founding of the fortified human village which bears his name. Of the blight they are sure as its poison creeps into their food and water, poisoning their children even from the womb. And of the blight creatures they are sure, as they prowl the nights and dark places, always hungry. So the name of El, they remember, carving it upon their doors and painting it upon the banners hung every ten paces along their walls. It is not required that a hunter believe the origin of the symbol to have it etched into the skin over his heart, marking him as one who fights to protect all others from the blight creatures. The name of El has a significance and an importance far more practical to a hunter as it makes the blood-drinking, flesh-eating creatures of nightmare howl in fear at the sight and hiss in pain at the sound of it. And if this El of legend had indeed set his undying, wise, and powerful children with the task of watching over humans, where were they?

The need became greater with each passing day. With each silent village of blood and ash found by the farthest-ranging scouts, with each butchered band of refugees found mere days from the walls of Colt, with each hunter falling to the claws and the teeth of his opponent, with each failed crop withered in the ground, with each child's cries of gnawing hunger, with each bloody loss of the whispered hope of new life leaving a mother's arms empty. How—the humans asked themselves—could the benevolent creatures of the myth exist and let this continue unchecked?

So it was with the most desperate and painful faith that John Winchester, distant descendant of Samuel Colt and head hunter of the Village of Colt, held onto an irrational hope with the last shreds of himself he had left and asked his eldest son to take what few hunters the village might spare and travel East in search of the Dwelling Tree and the Elves of legend to beg their aid in the battle with the blight. Perhaps it was a fool's errand, but Dean had never been able to say no to his father.


	2. Chapter 1: The Only World You Had

**Chapter 1: ****The Only World You Had**

_It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to desire, and many things to fear.  
><em>- Francis Bacon

_What we call despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope._  
>- George Eliot<p>

"Dean, don't-don't do this." Lisa knew the words were futile before they left her lips, but they slipped out anyway and she silently cursed herself. Dean was looking at her with so much honest pain in his eyes that her every instinct was to pull him into her arms and tell him it would all be ok. So she did, and she felt something tearing in her heart as she choked on the words, fervently blinking back tears.

Dean's arms crushed her to him, and she both heard and felt his ragged breathing. "Lis, I—It-it has to be me, Lisa. Father is the head hunter of Colt, the closest thing we have to a leader, and as far as Ash and Sam can determine from the lore, a leader sending his eldest son is something the Elves will understand." _If that son can find the Elves before falling to a blight beast. If the Elves even exist._ Fears and doubts hung unspoken in the still air as the couple leaned into each other for comfort and strength, Dean allowing his head to rest on her shoulder, each deep breath drinking in the scent of her. He silently prayed to a god he doubted even existed that he could return to his wife and son.

* * *

><p>"You required me, my Lord Michael?" Castiel stood still and quiet before the Steward's throne, taking in his elder brother's pensive posture.<p>

The High Elf's gaze shifted from the scroll in his hand to the younger Elf who stood before him. "It would appear so, Castiel." The High Elf placed the scroll on the arm of the throne, stood, and walked down the smooth wooden steps that made up the simple dais which the Steward's throne sat upon. Regarding the younger Elf as an officer would inspect his troops, Michael walked a slow circle around his brother. "You were one of Annael's garrison before she relinquished her command, correct?"

"That is correct, my Lord."

"And how do you find Zachariel as her replacement?"

"It is not my place to judge my superiors, my Lord Michael."

Michael chuckled softly. "And what is it your place to do, then, brother?"

"To serve and obey to the very best of my ability, my Lord."

Michael nodded in approval. "At this time, Castiel, I wish to know your personal…impressions of your current superior, especially in contrast with your former."

Castiel paused in thought. "Zachariel is competent, though not as…personable as Annael. I find he is somewhat more difficult to work with, but I expect it will simply take time to get used to a new commander."

Michael nodded. "Castiel, how do you feel about the humans?"

"I have not had occasion to get to know any humans personally, my Lord. But it is known that El revealed to you many years ago that the humans are to be cared for and protected. The Prophet Edlund who deserves respect for the favour El has shown him is, of course, also human."

"Castiel, where does your primary loyalty lie?"

Castiel didn't hesitate. "With El, Our Father and with you, my Lord, his Steward."

"Castiel, a very important special mission is to be required of you. The Prophet Edlund has had a vision concerning a certain human named Dean Winchester."

* * *

><p>"I understand you need a few of us to hunt some Elves with you," Jo said, hopping onto the bare end of the table where Dean was re-fletching arrows. She picked up an arrow between precise fingers and began to paint the iron arrowhead with thick glue. Constructing and repairing arrows was something her father had taught her before he died all those years ago. She used to spend evenings watching him work and was thrilled when she was finally old enough to help.<p>

"Find, not 'hunt,' and I can't take you, Jo."

Anger and disbelief flash across her features. "Why?"

Dean sighed. "I can take only those the village can spare, and we—we might not ever come back…at least not all of us. You should be getting married, Jo, considering your age."

Jo snorted and rolled her eyes. "Look, I _get_ the whole 'duty to the village' thing! But…Dean, there isn't anyone here for me to marry. I'm—I'm not looking for some mythic love from the old stories, but it's hard enough even working with most of the unmarried guys here; I can't imagine trying to raise kids with any of them."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You seem to get along well enough with Ash…and Adam."

She glared at him. "Ash is perpetually drunk or asleep or both. Not exactly what I'd call a good potential father for the children the village needs." She sighed and looked away. "And Adam was saying he plans to go with you."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Kate will _not_ like that." He shook his head, thinking of the fits his stepmother would throw—he did not envy his youngest brother. "Jo, if you think you and Adam could…stand each other, you should _both_ stay here. A wedding would really help with morale."

She sighed and looked down at the arrowhead as she rolled it in the dish of salt. "I don't think I could…" She paused and shook her head slightly. "Dean, if you can't find the Elves and convince them to help us, I don't think any number of weddings will help." She looked up, and her eyes were shimmering as the met his. "Missouri says the success rate in the past year has fallen to less than ten percent, with the most likely outcome being miscarriage, and stillbirth being the second most likely. I want to help the village, I really do. But don't ask me to do that."

Dean sighed, the sad realization settling on him like a load of iron. Jo wasn't the only young woman who was putting off marriage, despite tradition and custom; Gwen Campbell, Emily Burkittsville, Alex Harvelle, and Olivia Lowry all could have married at least two years ago. And though Kat Nevin clearly enjoyed Gavin Nicholas' attempts at courtship, she was dragging her feet in giving him an answer. Not one of these girls had been spared seeing her own mother endure the pain of lost pregnancies. Olivia and Alex had both seen younger siblings die in infancy. Jess and Sam, now married six months still held out hope that things could be different—Arlene and Mark Campbell, married five years, were starting to lose theirs.

* * *

><p>"Dean, I understand that your father believes this mission is important—maybe he's even right—but you can't take my baby girl!" Ellen glared up at him over the counter she was cleaning with violent swipes of a white towel.<p>

"It wasn't his idea, Mom; he tried to talk me out of it." Jo folded her arms and fixed her mother with a challenging look. Ellen's face fell, despair in her eyes. She knew she could talk Dean out of almost anything with little more than a disapproving glance, but Jo…Jo was another story altogether—Ellen had been helpless to change Jo's mind since the girl learned to walk. Maybe even before that.

"Oh, Jo, baby." Tears filled Ellen's eyes. Then she turned her attention to Dean once more. "Who else is going with you?"

"Adam, apparently," he replied, "and Gwen, and Rufus."

Ellen straightened, her hands resting on the edge of the counter. "Oh, Kate's not gonna like that, if Adam goes. But at least you'll have Rufus—the man might not be friendly or easy to get along with, but he's got experience and lots of it."

* * *

><p>"It seems like a damn fool notion to split our resources like this. But…even I have to admit I can see that we are dying here. And if there's any hope…any hope at all that some 'Elves' or whatever could help us out, well I guess it's worth the risk." Bobby sighed. "Let me fix you up with some decent weapons at least—with Caleb's help I can have the work done in two, maybe three days." He shot Dean a sharp look. "You're not planning on taking Caleb with you, are you?" Caleb Blacker worked alongside Bobby in the smithy in addition to taking hunter shifts on guard duty. Dean was also a capable blacksmith, but his duties as eldest son of the head hunter occupied nearly all of his time.<p>

Dean shook his head. "No sir. It'll just be me, Jo, Gwen, Rufus, and Adam."

Bobby looked down and blew air bout between his lips. "I guess there's no point in saying what Kate'll think of Adam leaving. But he's of age, so if he's taking the hunter's oath, I might as well make him something special and hope he puts it to good use out there."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I must admit I find the lack of any and all feedback to be a bit discouraging here. There will be a lot more of this story as I have the plot mapped out in my head, and I guess I'd just like to know that someone is actually reading.**


	3. Chapter 2: Within the Glow

**Chapter 2: Within the Glow**

**A/N: I have changed the spelling of the name of the leader of Castiel's garrison from 'Zachariahel' to 'Zachariel' on the advice of a reader. I think we can all agree it looks and sounds better this way. lol On a totally unrelated note, I finally have a new chapter to share—wrote it over a week ago, but only just today read/edited/polished it to publishable quality. I was traveling halfway across the country to visit my sister this past week; so sue me. :P**

_We fear the thing we want the most._  
>-Robert Anthony<p>

Jess woke up to the sounds of Sam getting dressed. She rolled over to look at her tall, muscular husband, but her appreciative smile fell from her face as a sudden wave of nausea hit her in the pit of her stomach. Her hand flew to her mouth as violent lurch of her stomach threatened to expel whatever remained of the previous night's meal. She tasted bitter bile in the back of her throat as she sat on the bed, her head in her hands waiting for her head to stop spinning. She tried to ignore the cold, clammy sweat breaking out all over her body as she concentrated on breathing deeply and slowly.

"Jess?" Sam's voice was worried. "What's wrong?"

* * *

><p>Lisa was going through her morning routine, brushing her hair and scrubbing her teeth when the calendar beside the mirror caught her eye. She frowned at it as she swished water around in her mouth. What she was seeing seemed impossible, but she knew she had kept careful track of her cycles since she was twelve. Maybe it was the worry. Worrying could interfere with the regularity of a woman's monthly bleeding. It must be the worry over Dean leaving that was causing her time of bleeding to be late—an entire week late. No doubt she would feel the familiar cramping later that very day. Besides, she had puked her guts out for the first three months of her pregnancy with Ben; and right now she felt fine. But she would have to see Missouri anyway, just to be sure. This wasn't something any woman in Colt would take lightly.<p>

"Ben," she called, rapping on the wall beside the curtain that covered the doorway to his room. "Come on, get up—breakfast!"

An unhappy groan answered her, followed by a decidedly miserable "Do I have to?"

"Of course you have to; now hurry up and get your teeth scrubbed while I fry us some eggs. Emily brought some tomatoes over last night, so we'll have some—would you like me to chop one up and fry it, or do you just want it raw?"

"I'm not hungry," Ben grumbled.

Lisa frowned. Ben had always loved tomatoes, and they were something of a rare treat, especially in the last few years. "Well, you have to eat something; you have weapons training with Mark this morning."

Ben threw the curtain aside and looked up at her, a mournful expression on his face. "I don't feel well; I don't want to go."

Lisa sighed and put her hand on his forehead, finding it to be a normal temperature. "You'll feel better once you eat something."

He heaved a longsuffering sigh and sulked past her down the narrow hallway toward the small washroom. Lisa was almost certain she heard him grumble, "I'd feel better if dad wasn't…" She didn't hear the end of the sentence, but she could guess what it was and couldn't help but agree.

Her hand moved involuntarily to clutch her blouse just below her throat. She couldn't be pregnant again, she just couldn't. Not with Dean leaving. The fear curled cold and heavy in her belly. The sooner she could see Missouri and know for sure, the better.

* * *

><p>"Sam." Jess spoke carefully, continuing to concentrate on her breathing in an attempt to avoid puking all over herself and their bed. She didn't fancy the idea of more laundry, and Sam could hardly take time off as it was his turn to oversee the dayshift on the walls. "I think— I might throw up."<p>

He knelt gently beside her, stroking her back reassuringly. "I'll have someone go for Kate."

She shook her head. "Missouri." She turned wide, frightened eyes on him. "It's the right time, Sam."

A flood of confused and conflicted emotions threatened to overwhelm Sam, but he managed a nod. "Okay, Missouri then."

It wasn't long before Missouri appeared in Sam and Jess' bedroom, a kind smile on her face. "Oh, Jess-baby, you really are having a tough time, aren't you? Sam-baby, bring her some cold water. Do you have bread in the house? Something dry and crunchy is best."

Jess gave her a pained smile. "I just want to know if—"

Missouri nodded, a smile lighting her kind eyes. "Yes, Jess, you have a little one in there." She leaned over and placed the flat of her palm on Jess' abdomen. "And such a strong, healthy baby too."

Jess looked down and away, twisting her hands in the blankets. "You can't know that for sure, Missouri."

"No, I can't ever know for one hundred per cent certain, that's true—I've seen babies start out healthy and just not make it, and I've seen fragile little things beat all the odds and pull through. But let me tell you something about the Winchester bloodline: it's strong. I've been village midwife here long enough to remember when Marry and John were newly married: Dean was her first pregnancy, Sam her second—she never lost a baby, Jess. It's just been that way in the Winchester family. So I think I can say with some certainty that the healthy, strong baby I feel today has a good chance of staying that way." She patted Jess on the back. "So you just take care of yourself and remember: it's okay to be happy!" She turned and looked at Sam who had returned with a cup of cold water and some toasted flatbread and was now leaning against the wall just inside the doorway. "And that goes for both of you. This is very good news. Allow yourselves to be raised up by hope and expect _good_ things."

* * *

><p>Lisa sat on the stool in Missouri's office, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Her dark hair hung in soft waves, obscuring her face, but Missouri knew without having to see Lisa's expression that it was filled with pain and conflict. "You can't tell Dean, Missouri, not now, not with him leaving." Lisa looked up, tears shining in her eyes that betrayed the helplessness she felt. "Why <em>now<em>?"

Compassion was evident in Missouri's face. "I don't know why, Lisa-baby, I just know that there's a healthy baby in there, at least as healthy and strong as Ben was. And if you don't want me to tell Dean, then I won't tell him; I won't tell anyone unless you want me to. I just wish _you_ could be happy about this."

"Oh, Missouri, I wish I could too! I've just always…feared getting pregnant again. With the chances of success so low…"

"Now you listen, Lisa-baby, and you listen good; the Winchester bloodline is strong—I don't know what it is that makes it special, but it just is. And you worrying isn't going to help anyone, so I suggest that you try your hardest to hope for the best. You're a strong and capable woman, and even with your man goin' away, you don't have to do this alone. There is a whole village here full of people here who love you and will support you—you just have to let us."

Lisa managed a weak yet hopeful smile. "Once Dean is gone, we'll tell them, okay? I just don't want Dean to worry, you know? He needs to do this, and he's going to do it no matter what. But if he knew I was pregnant, he would just feel so guilty for leaving me now. It would tear him up inside, and I just can't do that to him."

Missouri's eyes were wet with her own tears as she pulled the younger woman into a hug. "I understand, Lisa-baby. I understand."

**A/N: I promise there will be more exciting stuff happening ****eventually in this story. I just realized I had to set this up now, and I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter even if not much actually happened in it. :/**


	4. Chapter 3: And With it, Pain

**Chapter 3: And With it, Pain**

_Quietly bear this pain with pride._  
>-The Crüxshadows, "Winterborn"<p>

_Behind every beautiful thing, there is some kind of pain._  
>-Bob Dylan<p>

_Be to this world as a perfect knight  
>Even if it means your life<em>  
>-The Crüxshadows, "Sophia"<p>

He'd told her he was doing his best to protect her, but how could he protect her if he went away? To let her baby—her one and only _living_ baby—go away went against every feeling Kate had ever had as a mother. She felt as though she were walking through a dream, and for the first time in many years, she was unsure of what was real. _Maybe_, her mind whispered_, maybe all these years have been the dream. Maybe you never had a baby who lived_. _Or maybe, maybe he has finally realized the mistake; that you never deserved to be a mother, that you deserve to be alone_. She blinked back tears and tried to stay still and keep breathing. She really should thank Lisa and Jess for helping her dress for the ceremony today. She knew she really, should, but she couldn't form the words, so she simply made herself smile and hoped they understood.

Jess sat behind Kate on the foot of the bed, running a brush through the other woman's pale hair, while Lisa sat facing Kate on a stool, gently massaging a cool lotion into Kate's hands. Somewhere inside the clouds of her mind, Kate was aware that Jess and Lisa didn't seem distressed or frustrated with her lack of response. Their voices sounded gentle and pleasant, though she didn't bother to focus on the words long enough to discern their meaning. But some part of her wanted to scream at them, to make them go away and leave her alone. By allowing herself to be groomed and dressed, wasn't she also allowing her son to leave her? She found herself standing in front of the polished mirror, her hair arranged in braids and held with a silver clip. A simple creamy robe hung from her shoulders to her ankles, broken only by the blood- red sash about her waist, the ends of which fell from her navel to her knees. A thin silver chain hung around her neck, supporting the heavy silver rune of El that rested between her breasts.

It was, of course, a great honour for a mother to have a son take the hunter's oath.

If this was what honour felt like, Kate didn't want it.

* * *

><p>"Nervous?" Sam asked. They were waiting in a small room off the main hall of the temple.<p>

Adam stopped pacing and favoured his brother with a small smile. "A bit."

Sam shook his longish hair out of his eyes. "Worried about your mom?" Neither Sam nor Dean had ever called their stepmother "Mom;" their mother had died, and though Sam had been too young to remember his own mother, he had been old enough to remember when their father had married his second wife. Neither Kate nor John had asked Sam and Dean to call her "Mom"—Dean would not have anyway, and that would have been enough for Sam to follow suit. With John so busy with his duties as head hunter and until Kate came along, Dean had taken most of the care of his younger brother upon himself and the two had become nearly inseparable. Not that Kate had really taken over the care of Sam when she did join the family. She h had taken over most of the cooking and household chores, but as a childless refugee with no younger siblings, she knew very little about caring for small children and basically left Sam and Dean to their own devices—an arrangement that had worked out rather well due to Dean's considerable experience and the rules and instructions John had drilled into him until they were almost as natural as breathing.

Adam sighed. "No—yes—I don't know." He paused and looked at the ceiling for a moment. "I gave up on trying to make her understand. Now…she's just not talking—not to me, not to Dad, not to anyone as far as I know."

Sam nodded. He had vague memories of the moods Kate would go into during her pregnancy with Adam. And after that, every time Adam had been sick or hurt in any way—even the tiniest thing had been able to set her off, and she would go days without talking to anyone or even acknowledging the existence of anyone but Adam. It hadn't bee until Adam was fully weaned and starting regular lessons with the other village children that she had stabilised enough to take on the responsibilities as village healer, dealing with more mundane health concerns than the more specific midwifery that was Missouri's specialty.

"Jess and Lisa will have her ready and here in time for the ceremony," Sam assured his younger brother.

Adam nodded. "I know. And at least she doesn't have to say anything." Adam looked down, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "I'm-I'm a bit worried about the etching. I've never been very good with pain, and I keep imagining myself screaming and blubbering and generally making a fool of myself."

Sam's fingers moved to touch the fabric of his shirt that covered the symbol etched there. "Yeah, it does hurt—burns like fire," he agreed, "but if I could get through it without turning into the big baby Dean always says I am… You'll do okay, Adam." He gave his younger brother an encouraging smile and a clap on the shoulder. "You'll do okay."

* * *

><p>Kate found herself seated on a cold stone chair in the temple's main hall, Lisa standing to one side and Jess to the other. The younger women had not left her side, and though they were always gentle, somehow it felt as though they were physically preventing her from running away or otherwise making a scene. Some part of her was aware that this ceremony was very important to Adam, to John too, and that they both would be disappointed, even embarrassed—and in Adam's case mostly likely rather angry—if she let any of what she was truly feeling slip though in front of the assembled crowd. She was only dimly aware of the people in the benches facing her, but she knew that nearly everyone in the village would be here, save for the necessary sentries on the walls. Everyone who really mattered to Kate was up on the platform with her, anyway: her husband John, her stepsons Sam and Dean, and of course Adam, as well as Jim Murphy decked out in his full shaman robes, headdress, and accessories for the occasion.<p>

As the Shaman was speaking the traditional words, Kate wasn't listening, but Adam was as he stood with his father and brothers, dressed in the same pale fabric his mother wore, yet bare above the blood-red sash at his waist. He listened intently with a mix of pride, anticipation, and awe. It felt surreal to be the focus of an Oath ceremony. As a son of the village's head hunter, he had attended more ceremonies than other children, but the ones he remembered most were Dean's which had taken place when Adam was still too young to really understand what it meant—though he remembered sitting on the edge of his seat with rapt attention, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to one day be a hunter like his big brother—and Sam's which had been more recent. And also Jo's, of course, which had taken place roughly a year ago. If he was honest with himself, Adam would have to admit Jo had never looked more beautiful than when she stood beaming before the assembled crowd, the skin around the freshly etched symbol of El bright pink and angry, but her eyes shining with pride and elation as she accepted an elegant double edged silver and iron blade from her stepfather. She had later told Adam that her only regret was that her father could not be there; she knew he would have been so very proud to see her take the Oath. But knowing that the iron half of her new blade was forged using only iron from her father's own knife helped—using the knife to hunt, she felt close to him.

Adam's own father, of course, was very much alive and very much present, as he favoured his youngest son with a look of such pride that Adam couldn't help but stand a little straighter. It was time of the demonstration of proofs, and John was handing him a small silver knife which Adam accepted, trying to keep his hand from trembling. He didn't fear this nearly so much as the etching, but he wasn't exactly looking forward to cutting his own arm in front of an audience. Somehow, though, his body seemed to move of its own accord and the knife's silver blade sliced smoothly, drawing the required bright red blood—and he was pretty sure he didn't even wince. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd even felt the cut—it was hard to notice anything over the insistent pounding of his heart. Sam was carefully wrapping a soft bandage around Adam's arm to staunch the bleeding, and then Shaman Jim was offering him a small silver bowl of salt, and Adam managed to take a reasonable amount between his fingers and place it on his own tongue without fumbling, and he was silently thankful for that as he accepted the ornate silver cup of Blessed Water and drank it, swallowing the salt with a small shudder at the unpleasant taste. Of course, Adam understood that the demonstration of proofs during an Oath ceremony was entirely unnecessary as any sort of actual "proof"—no one doubted his status as a normal human—but silver, salt, and Blessed Water had been part of the ceremony since at least as far back as the founding of Colt, and Adam felt a sense of pride in going through the traditional motions before the assembled village.

"Adam Winchester?" the shaman was speaking again.

"Yes."

"Do you, Adam Winchester, swear today to take on the sacred role of Hunter, to train yourself to the limits of your own physical body and the limits of your own mind, to place yourself between others and danger—especially the danger of the Blight Beasts—to do all that is in your power to preserve the life, safety, and health of any and all humans you encounter—whether they be citizens of this your own village, refugees, or citizens of another—and to work to destroy the Blight Beasts as well as the source of the Blight, though it is as yet undiscovered?"

"I do."

"Then speak the oath."

Adam's heart was beating almost painfully as though it was trying to free itself from his ribcage, and his whole body felt charged with energy as he spoke the words in a steady, clear voice. "I Adam Winchester do swear to follow in the footsteps of Samuel Colt, my ancestor, fighting back against the Blight and its beasts, protecting and defending all I can, and ever striving to be a better hunter so I can better carry out my duty as a hunter. I do also swear that if the situation ever arises where it is necessary, I will willingly give up my own life." He heard the catch of his mother's breath then, almost a sob. He knew this was why she had never wanted him to take the oath; no one but a hunter was expected to willingly die to save others—not that a civilian never died to save another, but that was nearly unheard of in Colt, as warded walls patrolled by hunters stood between the regular villagers and most anything that could try to harm them. If anyone but a hunter were to die from some cause other than sickness or age, it would most likely be a hunter in training who had not yet taken the oath, but even that was rare, as hunters took the oath very seriously. The oath itself was nearly identical for all, but for those who shared in Samuel Colt's own bloodline, the acknowledgement of that ancestry was expected.

"We do honour you today, Adam Winchester, and thank you with the deepest and sincerest gratitude," the shaman said. "We do also honour the father and mother whose union produced this hunter, John and Kate Winchester, both of whom could share this special day with their son." John gave Kate an affectionate smile, full of pride, before turning his gaze back to his youngest son. "Adam is the third child and third son of John Winchester whose older two sons have also taken the oath, and who himself is our head hunter. Adam is the first and only child of Kate Winchester. We honour her especially, for the responsibility of motherhood is as difficult as it is joyous."

As his the shaman spoke the traditional words to honour his parents, Adam prepared for the etching; he lay down on the stone table, feeling it's smooth, cold, unyielding surface press back against his bare skin. He swallowed and tried to steady his breathing. Sam and Dean and Jo had all told him that focusing on keeping his breathing regular would help with the pain. There was no way to make an etching painless, no way to make it quick, but if a hunter wasn't willing to undergo physical pain, he had no business being a hunter. Missouri had told him hunter women had the easiest births, because they didn't fear the pain. From what Dean and Sam had told him, his own mother had not had an easy birth, though Adam suspected she had not feared the pain so much as the possibility that he might not survive. But he would survive today regardless how intense the pain; no one ever died from an etching.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I feel I must again apologize for how long this is taking me, though again I have some rather valid excuses: I destroyed the USB port on my old laptop, so I can no longer use a real mouse (and its touchpad mouse sucks), the layout of my new laptop's keyboard is screwed up with all the keys shifted to the right to make room for pointless and useless keys like a "calculator" key that opens the calculator program (wtf?), and my new laptop also doesn't have MS Word. /whine**

**As far as this chapter goes, I should mention I find Kate very difficult to write, as she was really not developed in the show at all. So I am basing her pretty much entirely on my own AU back-story for her, which is rather like writing an original character (something I don't do in fanfiction. ever.). That said, I do feel her story is important to my story, and I hope you don't hate her - she is (obviously?) mentally ill, which really isn't her fault.**

**I also hope you'll forgive the abundance of quotes for this chapter (I'd only used 1 or 2 for the previous ones), but all three of these quotes seemed to fit so well (and I am SUCH a Crüxshadows fan I have to restrain myself from adding quotes from them to every chapter - really, they are awesome: you should totally check them out), I figured what the heck? They are easy enough to skip by if you're really not interested. :D  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 4: The Hand on the Loom

**Chapter 4: The Hand on the Loom**

_With all of these miles that lie before me  
>I may never get home again<em>  
>-Rich Mullins, "I'll Carry On"<p>

"Dad!" Ben appeared, filling Dean's field of vision before he could get the door to his house fully open. "I want to take the hunter's oath."

Dean considered his son's insistent face carefully as he set his sheathed sword by the door and removed his jacket. "Of course; you can take the oath when—" he began, but Ben cut him off.

"No; I don't mean in however many years when I'm 'ready,' I mean now. Before you leave, so I—so I can come with you."

Dean sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Come here," he said, gently pulling the boy into his arms and feeling Ben's arms squeeze him almost painfully—he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at that: his son was strong and would make a fine hunter one day. Pulling back, he put his hand on the side of Ben's head, his thumb stroking Ben's cheekbone, and looked into his eyes. "Ben, I need you to listen to what I have to say. I know you will make a fine hunter; you're strong and brave and smart. And right now I need you to be strong for your mother, and I especially need you to be brave; because I won't be here to protect you."

Hurt and anger flashed in Ben's eyes and he shook his head slightly, pulling away from his father. "I don't need you to 'protect' me; we have the walls and all the _other_ hunters for that. But you're—you're going out there; there aren't enough of you. This isn't like the other times you've left. I hear what people are saying! They're saying you'll—that you'll never come back." Tears were running down Ben's face and his voice broke with emotion.

Dean felt tears spring to his own eyes as he grabbed his son and pulled him roughly into another hug, feeling Ben's body shake with the force of his sobs. "Ben, you know I've never been able to promise I'll come back; I've only ever said I promise I'll try my hardest, and that's what I've always done. And that's what I'll always do." He held Ben by the shoulders to look into his face once more. "You listen to your mom while I'm gone, and your Uncle, and your Grandpa."

Ben managed a nod, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yes, sir."

Dean grinned past the lump in his throat and ruffled his son's dark hair. "Now go get cleaned up for supper."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Castiel sat on the edge of his narrow bunk in the barracks he shared with six other Elves of his garrison. His attention seemed focused on the simple elvish blade that he was carefully cleaning and polishing, but in truth his thoughts were elsewhere and his hands moved through the well-practiced motions without his mind being more than marginally aware of his actions. Castiel's mind was occupied with the recent conversation he had shared with his Eldest brother—a conversation that he wasn't intended to forget. Though Castiel never doubted the rightness of Michael's commands, and certainly never considered disobeying them, he couldn't help wondering at their strangeness. Elves knew to respect the chain of command, to regard orders from their immediate superiors as though they had come from El's Steward himself. Of course, Castiel's most recent orders had in fact come directly from El's Steward, and for Michael to actually speak directly to an Elf of Castiel's caste was a breach of custom. It would, however, be a far greater breach of custom to draw attention to such a breach of custom, so no one who knew of their meeting dared comment on the strangeness that it had ever taken place at all.<p>

No amount of custom or tradition could not prevent Castiel's mind from worrying over the many strange things Michael had said to him, the strangest of which, 'Trust no Elf to speak for me; if I have further instructions, we shall once again speak face to face,' played over and over in his mind, filling him with a terrible sense of unease. Elves were made to trust one another, to be honest and truthful, and to obey their superiors without question. But Michael himself, Eldest and Steward of El had placed the seeds of doubt in Castiel's mind—doubt that shifted much of the most basic ways an Elf naturally saw and reacted to the world around him. After Lucifael's rebellion and banishment, all Elves knew that it was possible for another Elf—even a High Elf—to be unworthy of trust or obedience, but this was not something an Elf would spend much time considering. The entirety of Elven society and culture could crumble to ruin if Elves started distrusting one another. If nothing else, however, Castiel could still trust Michael and obey _him_ without question, and he clung to that knowledge. The unspoken implication, however, that he should not trust Zachariel actually confirmed something he had already suspected on an unconscious level. Castiel paused, having just stood to his feet and slipped his blade into a loop at his belt, his fingers stilling while still touching the cool silver metal. His brows drew together slightly as he pondered this realization: it had never felt right to trust his new commander. Castiel now allowed himself to consider the thoughts he had never before allowed to fully form in his mind—there was something _wrong_ in the way Zachariel spoke and carried himself, something too self-important, almost smug. Having now seen and spoken face to face with Michael, who despite being the Eldest of El and El's own appointed Steward still carried himself with more humility even when speaking to an Elf of such low rank as Castiel, the difference was startling. Michael had seemed calm and accepting of his position of authority, while Zachariel seemed intent on proving to everyone around him just how important he was. It should not be in an Elf's nature to judge his superiors, but Castiel could not help it: he disliked Zachariel and was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Zachariel was not deserving of the authority he had been given.

This newly understood distrust and dislike for his immediate superior only made it easier to follow Michael's commands with all the implications and consequences that would inevitably follow. Michael's voice rang out in his mind repeating, 'You will soon meet this human, Dean Winchester; it is your foremost duty to preserve his life, to guard him from harm—his safety is to be your primary concern in all that you do.' Michael had placed no limits, no exceptions on this command.

A sharp rap on the chamber door interrupted Castiel's thoughts. The door opened to reveal Rachel's stoic face framed by her long honey-coloured hair. "Castiel, Zachariel has summoned us to the west courtyard; he probably has new orders for our garrison." Castiel nodded acknowledgement and followed her from the room. It would be a new experience to be given orders and have to question and consider before obeying them.

* * *

><p>The sun was shining clear through the chill morning air when Dean, Adam, Jo, Rufus, and Gwen said their final goodbys and set out from the gates of Colt to the East. It was the third day of the week, the day known as "Hunter's Day" since at least as far back as the founding of Colt; Jim had said it was a fitting day for the party to begin their journey as he anointed them all with Blessed Water in the faint beginnings of dawn. Ben stood beside Sam on the wall and watched the small party grow smaller and smaller. Ellen collapsed in Bobby's arms, crying against his chest. John stood at the top of the tallest tower, roughly wiping tears from his eyes so he could see the retreating forms of his sons clearly for as long as was possible. Lisa sat slumped, her back against the door-frame of her house, her head resting on her knees. Kate lay silently in her bed, he eyes open and unblinking as she stared at the ceiling, listening to her breath as it filled and left her lungs.<p>

* * *

><p>Far away in her small chamber of the Dwelling Tree, former commander Annael carefully cleaned her elvish blade. If the rumours she heard were true, she would need it again before long.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There are seven days in the week as counted by the humans of Colt: Blade's Day, Salt's Day, Hunter's Day, Fire's Day, Water's Day, Farmer's Day, Blessing's Day. There are also seven days in the Elvish week, but most are named differently; the seven Elvish days are El's Day, Herald's Day, Healing Day, Light's Day, Prayer's Day, Labour's Day, Blessing's Day. So while it is Hunter's Day in Colt, it is Healing Day at the Dwelling Tree. You may or may not choose to see this as important.**

**I would like to apologize for how extremely long this has taken me. I would also like to assure everyone that I have not forgotten about this story, and I do have a rather detailed plan for what will most likely be 20+ more chapters; it's just that actually writing the story as a story takes time.**

**If you enjoy reading about Dean and Cas and want to read a story where they have actually met (I swear they WILL eventually meet in this story), I recommend my story "Snow and Angels" which is a lot shorter than this takes place in the normal canon universe. I published it a while back, so you may have already read it, but it's sort of about Christmas, so maybe you'd want to read it again? :P**


End file.
